


Born Under A Bad Sign (You Saved My Life)

by honorablementioned



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Little Less Sixteen Candles (Music Video), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bandom Big Bang 2017, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Human/Vampire Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honorablementioned/pseuds/honorablementioned
Summary: Pete swallows and tries to think. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can’t think of much else aside from the burning and yelling and pain.“F…Fire,” He eventually chokes out. His throat is so parched and he starts coughing as soon as the words leave his mouth.“Fuck – ” The boy moves away from Pete and no, he can’t go away again. A cry works its way out of Pete, but the boy is back before it becomes anything more than a small plea. He’s pressing something to Pete’s mouth then, forcing it past his lips and Pete tries to turn away from it instinctively, but then – oh.Oh.---Joe starts referring to that night as the accident, and Pete can’t help but agree. He’s now a vampire with an addiction to blood and an addiction to Patrick, and he doesn’t know what else to do but face down William Beckett - his maker - to try to make sense of it all. Mix in a side of betrayal, a dash of soul bonding, and a heaping of love, and you have the makings of A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me AU.





	Born Under A Bad Sign (You Saved My Life)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Blaze, Fuchsia, and Etta for giving me encouragement as I wrote this fic. I've never written anything quite this long before, so it was a trip and a ride to get through 20k LOL. 
> 
> Thank you to doctorkilljoy as well for making my compliment piece, which can be found [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156306) Mm, aesthetics.
> 
> This is dedicated to my friend Rosi, who inspired me to join the Bandom Big Bang this year and helped me with the idea. I hope you enjoy. ;-;

Everything was _burning_.

The heat – the all encompassing fire – that courses through his system is the only thing Pete’s aware of. He’s gasping for breath, but finding no relief, no air to calm the tight restriction in his lungs. His skin feels scorched as if it’s melting off of his bones with each passing second.

A sharpness against his neck causes him to cry out now; flailing limbs attempt to catch something, anything, to hold onto. He can feel someone – people, several people – halt his movements and force him to be still. He’s crying, openly sobbing against the constantly moving bodies that bind and drag him and everything’s still _too hot, too much_ – 

He screams as he’s thrown into a cramped space. He hits a hard surface and tries to claw his way out of the binds, only he’s forced down once again. His neck is bleeding and his jacket is soaked and he gives another wrecked sob. Hands press against his back and Pete can hear yelling in the distance; _drive, go faster, he’s dying_ –

Pete can swear that it’s been hours, days practically, that he’s been experiencing this literal Hell. There seems to be no end in sight for the constant flames that surround his body inside and out; licking and flickering and ghosting over his every nerve. He can barely remember anything that has happened before it – voices, screaming and sharp cries, _he’s not gonna make it, Patrick_ \- and doubts anything is going to come after this eternal damnation that he’s trapped in.

Pete should realize by now that even in doubt, there’s always a glimmer of truth that comes out of the shadows.

\---

The outskirts of Chicago are dark these days. Buildings are abandoned and people scatter every which way, leaving the area in search of safer places. Police patrol, of course, trying to keep the peace and attempt to keep the creatures at bay, but the war that rages is only the beginning and there can be no misgivings about its inevitable uprising. No mere mortals, foolish enough to fight back, seem to be able to fully comprehend just who they’re dealing with, as their weapons are seized and their blood consumed for fuel, bodies being tossed aside to litter the streets just like garbage bags and debris.

The fact of the matter is that it seems to be almost apocalyptic; destruction and decay run rampant through the cities as the beasts of the night come forth, exposing themselves even further. It was sudden in the beginning, too sudden, when they came into the light of the human beings’ eyes. Before they dwelled in the darkness and kept to themselves, feeding off of the occasional morsel as to not risk their kind’s well being – or most assumed as much.

Now, though…now it’s as if there was never anything else aside from the constant battle and murder that plagues both communities. The same day plays out over and over again, with silence being a foreign, unobtainable concept. Seconds become minutes and days become weeks, turning into months and years of facing the undeniable truth that never once crossed anyone’s mind beforehand.

Would you have thought to heed to the existence of vampires? Of course not. You’ve heard it all before. The undead, bloodsucking creatures that folklore warned us about were stories – stories that you told to kids to scare and frighten them for fun. You read novels that were written by skeptics, romantic and horrifying and growing farther from the truth with each page you turned. You wore costumes of them in celebration for Halloween, ate candy with poorly drawn cartoons of them on the wrappers, and did not think twice about giving life to monsters that weren’t really lurking behind in the darkness. 

You didn’t stop to consider the tales aside from _Dracula_ and the amusing Anne Rice depictions. There are accounts in West Africa that swear of despicable humans, evil and distraught, who had died and passed on only to come back to life so they could walk among the living and consume their blood. Those legends say that blood strengthen the undead, heighten their instincts and make their purposes and goals easier to obtain. Scripts from Israel have also said that blood is the essence of life and the spirit of the soul; to seek and consume it result in damnation. Warnings and wariness are told from around the globe about these foul beings, to heed and take into consideration before acting as fools and becoming one of these creatures.

Maybe you didn’t care because that’s all anyone has ever said about those accounts and scripts; they’re fables, tales passed down from tribes and passages that are just text and lore. In modern times they’re not looked at as much more than morally-centric stories to keep people in the straight and narrow path. You wouldn’t take these seriously. They aren’t in history books; they’re just stories, as I’ve said before.

But they aren’t really just _stories_ , now are they?

I know you’ve heard the rumors. You’ve heard the warnings. Your parents told you not to go out at night alone. _Have you seen the news?_ They say. Another boy was taken. 

Chicago has become the focal point, the main attraction to these abductions. Young adults are taken in the midst of night, from bars and nightclubs to street corners. Bodies are being found under bridges and in alley ways, in run down apartments weeks after these people were reported missing. They’re cold and drained of their blood, with marks on their bodies that range from their wrists to their inner thighs and to their necks. Puncture wounds – not needle marks, as most would claim – but open holes that bear a striking resemblance to teeth impressions. Every autopsy report returns with unconvincing results of sudden heart failures, and the media never reveals more. 

Many people – the same people who claim that these young people were shooters – say it’s all a joke. The murderers probably get a kick out of these killings, seeing the coroners and news anchors so baffled. Who in their right mind would actually believe that _vampires_ would be killing these people?

But you know better now, don’t you? 

More victims are found. The first of many is that of a boy, no more than seventeen, with blood drained from his pale corpse and two small impressions above his collarbone. A neighbor had called in after seeing the boy from his second floor fire escape when he went out for a smoke. He was pronounced dead when the police and ambulance pulled in to assess the scene. There were no indicators of him being alive at all; no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath…

But despite all those factors, eye witness reports have said that this boy was indeed alive. There was a jolt of movement when they were wheeling him away. There was an ear piercing scream that caused uproar. The boy’s eyes were unmistakably open and focused; bright red and pupils thin as slits. There was no denying the speed at which the boy lunged away from the EMTs or the amount of strength he had as he jumped from building to building, crumbling brick and denting metal from his impacts. 

You’ve heard the _stories_ and the rumors. You know better than to believe what people gossip about. You know that regardless of whether that boy was actually alive or not when they found him, he certainly wasn’t human long before then.

\---

Pete wakes with a gasp. The first thing he notices is darkness; no light anywhere near him or from far away. The second thought to pass through his mind is that there’s no fire. The burning from before is dull, almost as simple as an ache compared to what it once was, and he lets a harsh exhale escape him with relief. He tries to move then, but struggles against bonds that tie him down to a surface – a table, he assumes, after feeling the hard press of metal against his back. He can’t remember much of anything that happened before he woke up and panic slowly starts to creep under his skin.

Nothing works, no matter how much he pulls or strains against the strong leather that keeps him strapped down. How long has he been here, he wonders, and how much longer is he going to be left to his own devices? Is he going to be tortured? Maybe he’s in purgatory on a waiting list and the Devil is just deciding on what to do with him. 

_Think, Pete_ – at least he remembers his name – _you’re bound to a prep table in the dark. Experimentation? Test subject? The world is your oyster. You were on fire before, probably both literally and figuratively, but now you’re cold. Ice cold. Maybe mercy? Possibly being stored for further consumption._

His thoughts are reeling as he tries to make sense of the moment, but suddenly a creak echoes from across the room he’s in. Pete snaps out of his wonderment and turns his head towards the sound, doesn’t even try to move his body after knowing it’s a fruitless attempt. 

A light flickers on from above him and he winces at the onslaught of brightness. A hiss escapes him and Pete starts to pull against the restraints out of instinct to get away, but more light streams into the room and a voice hushes him.

“Don’t move, Pete – ” It says, but hearing that voice just makes Pete want to move more. The moment it reaches his ears his tensions practically melts away. He wants to reach over and grab that voice and keep it close, swallow it so it can sooth his insides and calm the ache that still persists, just like it calmed the harsh overload to his senses before. It’s the closest thing to content he’s felt in so long, regardless if it’s only been seconds of relief, spreading to all the right places and washing easiness over him. 

Pete opens his mouth to speak, but the voice once again cuts through.

“Pete, _don’t_ – You’ve been out of it for so long. You need to stay still or else you’ll hurt yourself.” He can’t see the figure that’s speaking because of the bright light blocking his view, but he does as told. Pete feels a hand – clammy, wet, from nervous sweat or possibly from tears – run across his forehead and he preens into the touch. He wants to arch up, tries to strain his neck to feel the press of skin against skin, but it’s over before he can really enjoy it. A sound bubbles up from his throat unconsciously, almost like a snarl, as the figure pulls his hand away. It only makes the figure put more distance between the two of them.

This time Pete whimpers, the sound just as automatic as the growl from before. No, no, he can’t – He misses the presence of his visitor instantly and struggles again. It was so reassuring and calming and _sweet_ –

“ _God_ , Pete, what did they do to you?” The voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Despite the tone, Pete closes his eyes and lets the soft sound of the voice entrance him for just a moment more. It’s music to his ears, honestly, and he wants to move to get closer to it, or to get the touch from before back – he’s desperate, he’ll admit, and starts to lift his arms to try again – if only he could – _if only_ –

But the hands and voice are back, shushing and calming and now there’s singing, too – singing that’s so gentle he has to stop and focus on the melody. Pete’s eyes flutter close as he lets himself be taken away once again by the touch and sound of his visitor, lets himself be swept up in the euphoric waves rushing through his body. The fire in the beginning of his memory has settled and he’s vaguely aware of the light being dimmed from above. He’s falling asleep, he thinks; drifting and floating on the edge of consciousness. Almost there, but not quite.

The melody dies off after awhile, but there’s a hand running through his hair that distracts him further. He leans into the movement, practically purring from the contentment that fills his system.

\---

“Joe, they fucked him up so bad. I don’t – _I don’t understand_. I know they’re monsters but he’s acting like an animal or something – ”

“Patrick, _Patrick_ , calm down. You’ve read about this, right? You just need to feed him and keep him calm. What did the manual say? New vampires just need a little adjustment period. Remember high school? This is like puberty all over again. Is your formula ready?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s the best for him. It’s not the same as human blood…What if he doesn’t take it?”

“You’re our best shot. If he’ll take it from anyone, it’s you.”

\---

The next time Pete wakes up and comes back to himself, he’s aware of the dryness in his throat. It’s a nagging scratch that he can’t quite itch, no matter how much spit he gathers and swallows. The sandpaper feeling gets worse with each gulp and his tongue is a heavy weight in his mouth. He’s thirsty – what else could it be? – but it doesn’t feel like the usual dehydration.

He also notices he’s still tied down. The leather straps bite into his arms and he gives a small tug against them, but nothing budges. The room is dark again too, no sudden light to blind his vision this time, but his eyes are still weighted from sleep and general fatigue. How long as he been out for now? Long enough to know he feels like shit, at the very least.

Pete lies awake for a little while longer. He thinks of the voice from before, how calming it was to hear it talk and to hear it sing. The pipes of an angel, he knows, even if he hasn’t seen the face to pair it with. 

His eyes drift over to his left towards where his visitor stood before. Maybe if he reaches out he’ll be able to touch them. Maybe they’ll appear out of thin air and fill the emptiness that’s residing in his chest. Maybe the raw scratch of his throat will be soothed by hearing them, just like how their voice comforted Pete before.

The sound of footsteps jerks him from his thoughts. The door to the room he’s in eases open and he watches someone come in. The light pouring from the hallway makes it hard to see the details, but he makes out the shape. His visitor from before is carrying bags of liquid, or what seems like it since they’re nearly falling out of their arms; squishy and unable to keep a solid shape.

His visitor walks over to him after shutting the door and places the bags on a table next to Pete – was it always there? – and Pete in turn inhales the scent of his visitor. It’s not quite the same as listening to them or feeling their touch, but he already feels better just having them this close.

Pete leans up into the person’s touch when a hand presses against his forehead and he practically purrs at the contact.

“Awake now?” His visitor asks. They run a hand through Pete’s hair and Pete notices the hands aren’t as clammy this time. A click sounds from above and the overhead light is back on. He blinks a few times to get used to it, but his quickly turns to get a proper look at the person with him now.

His visitor is a boy – a man, maybe, but he looks so _young_ – with honey colored hair hidden under a worn, grey cap. His face is flushed red and he looks so soft. His eyes are even softer as he looks back down at Pete. The glow from the overhead light may be dim, but it radiates behind the boy as he leans over him. And Pete – Pete wants to reach up to touch his face, touch his everything quite honestly, and he tries to before remembering the _fucking restraints_ – 

“ _Don’t_ – ” The boy reaches over and puts his hand over Pete’s clenched one. A spark jolts through Pete’s arm at the contact. “You’re tied down for a reason, Pete. Don’t you remember anything?”

Pete swallows and tries to think. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can’t think of much else aside from the _burning_ and _yelling_ and _pain_. 

“F… _Fire_ ,” He eventually chokes out. His throat is so parched and he starts coughing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Fuck – ” The boy moves away from Pete and no, he can’t go away again. A cry works its way out of Pete, but the boy is back before it becomes anything more than a small plea. He’s pressing something to Pete’s mouth then, forcing it past his lips and Pete tries to turn away from it instinctively, but then – oh.

_Oh._

Suddenly liquid is rushing into his mouth and every comprehensive thought is gone. The tangy, metallic taste ignites his taste buds and his nostrils flair at the coppery scent that floods the room. He opens his mouth more and latches onto the source of the sweet nectar. There’s a faint popping sound, but his mind is only focused on getting more fluid down his throat.

 _This_ – This is the quench he needs. The heavy feeling in his mouth from before dissipates and he works his throat, swallowing mouthful after mouthful. The ache in his system, the dull burning from before, is gone now. His nerves that were once shot now settle and ease. Pete clamps his mouth down and sucks hard again against the plastic – the bags from earlier, he realizes – but nothing more comes out.

He releases the bag and the boy pulls back, letting the empty container drop to the floor with a soft splat. Pete works his throat again, swallows some spit and tries to catch any lingering drop he may have missed. He feels like he can finally breathe again and lets out a shuddering exhale. He wants more – this drink and the voice combined of his angel are the opposite of what he thought he was going to experience when he was first in the room, but now it seems more like a heaven on earth.

Pete turns his head to ask for another bag of whatever that was, but stops. The boy is looking at him with such sadness now; damp eyes and lips parted as if shocked, like he made some horrifying discovery. Pete wants to ask what’s wrong, what happened, but the man crumbles before he can get a word out.

A wet sob echoes through the room and Pete’s about to rip his own arms off to get off of this table, because he has to do something – the boy is crying, for God’s sake, and Pete can’t do anything. He grunts and whines and pulls, but nothing bends to his will.

“ _Please_ – ” Pete tries. The crying is quieter now, softer. The boy hiccups and sniffs and tries to regain some sort of composure. Pete can’t take his eyes off of him.

“I…” The boy begins, but he doesn’t look at Pete. “I just…He _ruined_ you Pete. He fucking – he took your life away and now you’re this and I don’t understand why it had to happen. We’re the good guys and we were trying and suddenly it’s all shot to hell.” 

He’s trembling as he speaks, tears staining his soft face. Pete can feel the sadness, the anger and resentment, from the boy – not just from watching him cry, not just from sympathy, but he can physically feel the emotions running in his own veins as if he were the one they were coming from. They’re so strong and he’s surprised by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. He wants to cry with the boy, can feel the tears start to prickle from the corners and down his face.

“I should’ve been a better partner. I should’ve shot Beckett when I had the chance…” The boy covers his eyes with his palm and chokes back more pained tears. “He was so close to you, and I should’ve shot him. You told me to, but I didn’t, and I fucked up. I froze and fucked up and I hate myself for turning you into this.”

None of this is making sense to Pete. The name _Beckett_ sounds familiar and his neck aches as he tries to remember, but the scene isn’t connecting in his memories. He stretches his hand out towards the boy; to hold him, hug him, and soothe away the pain as best he can. The panic and hatred are so strong and Pete can’t take much more. He whines to get the boy’s attention, but that only succeeds in getting a glance in return.

“I’m sorry, Pete.” The boy pushes himself off the ground and wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He turns to leave, doesn’t look back as he says, “Joe or Andy will be here in a bit, but I just…I _can’t_.”

The door opens and closes with a soft click and Pete’s left alone again, with only the thoughts of soft crying and the dull ache in his neck to keep him company.

\---

“I know I’m not Patrick,” is the first thing he hears after hours of silence, “but he needs some time. It’s an adjustment for all of us, him especially. Or, actually, you especially, but you get my point.”

Pete’s upset over the fact that it isn’t Patrick – Patrick, the boy with the honey hair and the sad eyes – but he sees that this new boy is holding the same bags that Patrick had before. They slosh and slide as the boy sets several more of them on the table. Pete licks his lips.

“He made this for you,” The new boy says. “A substitute of sorts. Not name brand, unfortunately, but Patrick said it should help your cravings. Or he at least hopes it will.”

Pete reluctantly opens his mouth for the bag – artificial blood makes his insides turn from the prospect, now that he knows what it is, but his stomach rumbles regardless from the mere thought of getting to taste that sweet liquid again. He clamps his mouth down and hears the faint pop of the plastic, newly sharp fangs piercing it just like before, and he drains the bag dry. He wonders what real blood must taste like, but Patrick made this just for him, so he sets that wonder aside for now.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happened to Pete – Joe, the new boy, talks about the little nitty, gritty details of it all. Between Pete’s slurping and changing out the bags, he reminds Pete of how they all met in the hardcore scene of Chicago. He tells him about playing music together, starting a band, going on tour – Pete was the one to get them into the hunting business when all hell broke loose. “ _’Because how can we make music while those fuckers are out there ruining the world?’_ ” Joe quotes Pete from years ago and laughs at the memory. “It wasn’t convincing, not in the least. We actually considered running for the hills when you suggested we join in on the war. But Patrick couldn’t let you go in alone, and in the end Andy and I couldn’t leave you guys behind.”

Joe stops to let out a shaking breath, before continuing his explanation.

“It was scary. We’ve been doing this for a few years and it seemed like the usual hunt. You and Patrick had gone off towards the west side, Andy and I went east, and we were all supposed to meet up in the middle at around two in the morning. It was always like that; you and Patrick are connected to the hip, in song writing and hunting too. You always know what the other is thinking, which is why you guys were – _are_ – such a good team. But then…”

He takes the last bag from Pete’s mouth and sets it on the side table. Joe’s frowning now and Pete gulps in anticipation.

“It was smooth sailing up until we got a call from Patrick. He was yelling so loud over the radio that we could hardly understand him. We made out the words _Pete_ and _Beckett_ and we – when we finally got there it was too late.”

Pete furrows his brow. _Too late?_

“You lost so much blood…Your jacket was completely ruined and it looked like Beckett nearly ripped your head off of your shoulders. Patrick was screaming and we tried to get you out of there as fast as we could, before Beckett could come back for another surprise attack. We don’t know why he turned you. He isn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, you gotta understand. He either drains his victims or takes them for part of his team, but he just left you on your own.”

Pete looks up at the dimmed overhead light and focuses on the tightness in his chest. He faintly remembers bits and pieces; screaming and crying and _Hold on Pete, they’re coming, it’s gonna be okay_. He can remember the smell of copper in the air, much like now, only more bitter and practically soaking his pores. He can remember the swelling pain in his neck and his own groans as he tried to stay awake. He remembers feeling someone’s arms around him right before the fire had started.

He can’t remember all, but he remembers some. Pete swallows to ease the lump in his throat.

“Is he…okay?” His words are slightly broken as he speaks. He doesn’t have the tickle in the back of his throat like the last time, so he tries again. “Is Patrick okay?”

Joe looks at Pete, shocked, but nods frantically after a moment. “Yeah, yes, he’s – do you want me to – ?”

Pete shakes his head, fatigue outweighing the uncomfortable ache of wanting to see Patrick again. He knows it’s more than that – this feeling, this _need_ that strikes him every time he thinks of the boy. It’s alarming, but it’s familiar, and he pushes it down and tries not to think of the gnawing in his stomach at the distance.

“Sleep,” Pete murmurs and closes his eyes, signaling to Joe that that’s the end of the conversation.

\---

Patrick doesn’t visit him for the next few feedings.

From what Pete assumes, the boy is now avoiding him like the plague. It has to do with Pete’s newfound blood lust and nothing to do with Pete himself, which. Pete’s a vampire now; it has _everything_ to do with him. Joe tries to reassure him, but Pete can’t stop thinking about it. The disgust and shock on Patrick’s face was evident, even to someone as fatigued and out of it as Pete was at the time, and the worry eats away at his insides. 

But Joe stays with him, and so does Andy. His memories are coming back a little each day – he can remember introducing Andy to Joe and Patrick, can remember Andy once punching a guy for him at a party – and he feels a little less lonely because of it. 

The ache is still ever present. It never fully goes away, not really, only dulls when Pete can distract himself with eating or talking. It gets worse when Patrick does decide to come and see Pete, but he’s always with Joe or Andy. He refuses to come alone and it hurts. Of course it hurts. Patrick doesn’t say anything as they give Pete his artificial lunches and dinners. When he’s in the room, at least, the ache throbs only slightly and calm drapes over him, and Pete can handle no talking if Patrick’s just there with him. 

Each feeding he grits his teeth and sucks the blood bags and tries to ignore the constant disappointment that’s radiating off of Patrick. He tries not to stare at him, tries to push down the urge to comfort the boy, tries to show his appreciation of them being here by giving toothy smiles and laughing along, and tries not to notice how Patrick’s heart breaks with every flash of his fangs.

It doesn’t go on forever, though. 

Joe all but bounds into the room one day to tell Pete that it’s been three weeks since his accident – as they’ve taken to calling it – and starts to unbuckle the restraints that tie Pete down to the table.

“You’re calm enough to leave the room, so congrats,” Joe says, pulling the straps off one by one. “We’re gonna let you eat at the big kid’s table now.”

Pete can’t take his eyes off the leather bindings as they finally slip off of him and onto the floor. The sound of metal hitting the concrete ground rings throughout the empty room, but Pete’s attention is immediately drawn to the lightness of his arms. He raises his hands up and twists his arms over his head, stretching his sore muscles. He releases a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

His legs feel weightless as he swings them over the table. His bare feet touch the cold, solid floor and he stands with no help. Joe offers his arm anyway so that he can steady himself, but Pete doesn’t grab onto anything to gain his balance.

It’s grounding – physically and mentally. He hasn’t felt this sort of freedom since before the accident. There’s no guilt and no worry for the moment, because he doesn’t notice anything other than the weight being lifted off his shoulders.

Or rather, it could be his actual weight that’s being lifted off the ground that has him suddenly feeling lighthearted. With one look down he notices he’s actually floating in mid air – hovering, flying, what have you – and takes back everything he thought about feeling grounded with his freedom.

At least there’s more to this vampire thing than just drinking blood.

\---

The newfound height advantage is nice. While being five foot six on a good day isn’t bad, it isn’t great either, so he uses his time wisely. He touches the ceiling, gets things off the high shelf for Joe and Andy, and changes the light bulb in the closet.

It’s silly, he knows, but doing something mundane makes him feel almost normal again.

But he knows there are still things left unanswered, things he still doesn’t know about when it comes to vampires. Patrick had always been the one to do research and educate everyone, with Pete reading his notes every so often in between kills. The name Beckett is so familiar, too – he should know something about this person, but his mind draws a blank every time he tries to remember. 

Joe isn’t much help when he asks, only saying, “You need to ask Patrick. He’s the only one who knows about their kind – or, well, _your_ kind now.”

Pete thinks about taking a bite out of Joe’s throat for that remark, but only for a second, because it is true. _His_ kind now, whether he wants it or not.

But asking Patrick…It’s out of the realm of possibility. He knows the boy still doesn’t want to see him. He hasn’t spoken a word to Pete since he ran off that first feeding. The tension in their base is high and the pressing distraught that Pete can feel from across the building is more than he can handle some days. It’s something they both need to come to terms with, but not now. 

He doesn’t inquire about anything else, doesn’t feel the need to at this moment, and instead he takes his time going through their hideout; an old, abandoned recreation center at the edge of Glenview, Illinois. It’s falling apart, with broken windows and gutters hanging off the sides of the building, and Joe told him it was one of the only areas that wasn’t claimed by any local, rogue gangs.

The rooms in their hideout are filled with various things. Being a recreation center it has several rooms, too. One room is dedicated to weapons of every sort, from wooden stakes to assault rifles that they’ve gathered from around the city. Another room looks like a den, with a couch that has stuffing peeking out of its stitching and an old television set that’s hooked up to a VCR player. There are a couple of make-shift bedrooms, too, with mattresses on the floors and tapestries to cover any windows. There are two bathrooms with three stalls in each of them, and over all the entire building is more than enough room than four men would need. Pete supposes it’s just the right size, though, because everyone needs their space when living in close quarters for so long.

Eventually Pete finds himself in the kitchen, furnished with a large island in the middle of the room. The space itself is large, with an open floor plan that connects to the den. He can see himself spending a lot of time in here, if only for the way the light peeks through the high windows to give the room a nice, calming aura.

The fridge holds nothing of real interest. Everything in it intended for normal humans, of course, and the only thing he really sees that’s for him now are small packs of blood in the chill drawer. He wishes the sight of the human food didn’t make his stomach cramp up, the mere thought of eating anything makes him feel sick, and if he’s being honest with himself the thought of also drinking the artificial O-Negative – or so the package says – makes him feel like throwing up as well. But he’s hungry and there’s no one here to feed him now, so he props himself against the counter island and sinks his fangs into the snack pack.

As he drains the bag he notices some light coming from the archway that connects to the den. He didn’t see it before when he was touring their hideout, but now it’s a stark contrast. He wanders over, bag of blood still clenched in his hand, and he peers into the now lit room.

There’s a desk and a chair and a _Patrick_ sitting in the chair. The little office set up is in the corner, away from the couch and television. The boy hunches over the desk, scribbling something in a notebook, and he doesn’t even notice Pete’s presence, too engrossed in his activity. His eyes are darting between the notebook and another open book a few inches away. _Research?_ Pete thinks. A radio is also on the desk, antenna up, but it’s only static that flitters through the air.

Pete’s chest aches as he watches him. He looks much like he has every other time Pete’s seen him, with his soft honey hair and averting gaze, and even though concentration that masks his features he still looks like the fragile boy who wept by Pete several weeks ago. He can feel his mood – determination, anguish, _hope_ – and he wants to reach out just like before, smooth away at the creases and wrinkles that litter Patrick’s face. He wants to say something, anything – _I’m sorry_ – but it doesn’t seem appropriate, especially after weeks of silence between the two of them.

His body doesn’t seem to share his mind’s apprehensive thoughts, though, because before Pete knows it he’s up in the air hovering towards Patrick with no control. He panics – he thought he had this power down, damn it – and shrieks, arms flailing to try and get himself to stop. But then Patrick looks up and the boy nearly falls backwards out of his chair from the sight of Pete floating in mid air.

“ _Pete!_ ” He yells, flailing but catching himself by gripping the edges of his desk. He looks flushed from the surprise, taken aback, and Pete’s chest constricts even more at the sight of the rosiness that adorns Patrick’s face.

Again he wants to touch him, and his hands come up to try and cup Patrick’s face, but he stops himself. Patrick’s also pulling back from his attempt, his own hands coming up to grip at Pete’s wrists to pull his hands back down. 

It’s quiet for a moment and Patrick’s hands are still touching Pete’s. He doesn’t let go. This close Pete can see more details – he’s tired, too tired, with bags under his eyes and weariness in his gaze as he once again looks anywhere but at Pete.

Pete opens his mouth to break the silence, but Patrick beats him to it.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks, swallowing harshly. “Joe says…He says you’re better. Obviously, since you’re out of the room, but I wasn’t sure…” Patrick gives a shrug, drawing in on himself more. He looks uncomfortable with the prospective conversation. “I wasn’t sure what he meant by better. I know you’ve been drinking the blood substitute I made, but I was worried it wouldn’t give you the same energy as natural blood…”

He doesn’t just look uncomfortable; Pete can feel the anxiety that Patrick has. He’s been able to feel him even despite the distance, in bits and pieces, but being in front of him like this – this close, touching in some aspect too – it’s like a tidal wave. He feels the anxiety, the confusion and the sadness and regret, a tinge of happiness from the sight of seeing Pete being up and well. Pete isn’t strapped down, isn’t snarling, and looks much like he did before the accident, minus the hovering and the sharp fangs that rest against his lips. The relief is there, Pete can feel it, but it’s subtle. It’s enough to let Pete know that Patrick still cares.

He still cares, despite the hinges and dents between them, and it makes Pete smile.

“Better,” Pete replies. He’s been talking quite a bit to Andy and Joe, but he keeps his voice soft for Patrick’s sake. 

“Good. That’s. That’s good.” Patrick nods hastily, clearing his throat afterwards. “Well, now that I know you’re okay, I’ll just – ”

“Are you better?” Pete interrupts. He’s fighting every nerve in his body that tells him to cling to Patrick, tells himself there are boundaries. This is the closest he’s been to Patrick since he’s woken up. This is the closest they’ve been alone with each other. There are tears collecting in Patrick’s eyes and Pete lets out a shaking breath. _That answers that question._

But Patrick nods again, less frantic and gentler. “I’m better. I…I’m sorry, Pete, for leaving you like that. I’m sorry for not talking. I couldn’t – I _can’t_ – handle seeing you in that way. Not all of a sudden, at least, but I’ll try.”

Pete doesn’t know what way he means, if it’s the vampire thing in and of itself or the table bit, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. He wants _this_ ; Patrick and talking and the swelling in his chest with every moment Patrick looks at him. There’s no recoil now, no disgust like before, just light adoration that Pete’s fighting hard to feel and see.

“We’re okay,” Pete says. He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face, and he counts it as a success when Patrick gives his own small, albeit nervous, smile back.

They’re okay, or as okay as they can be in that moment.

\---

After their conversation, he starts to fall into some habits. He shared a room with Patrick before his accident and his bed is still there when he’s out of quarantine, so he makes himself as cozy as possible with a mountain of blankets to hide away from the light. Patrick doesn’t seem to mind having him as a roommate again – he doesn’t voice any concerns and Pete can’t feel any hindrance from him. Pete takes that as a step forward.

More often than not, he spends nearly every moment with Patrick. He doesn’t feel comfortable straying far from his side, because those insistent aches, those tugs in his chest, keep him rooted only a few feet away from the boy at all times. He keeps a safe amount of distance, doesn’t cross any lines that may make Patrick stray farther from him. No one comments on the general closeness, no questions are asked, and Pete assumes he was just as, if not more, clingy as a human than he is now.

Generally they wake up together and start their day in much of the same way, both going into the kitchen – coffee for Patrick, warm O-Negative for Pete – and Pete hovers next to Patrick as he does his research for the next few hours. It’s a repeat for lunch and dinner, where the four of them share their meals, and they all retire to their respective areas for more relaxation time or planning possible hunts.

Through the days it gets easier to touch Patrick. He hasn’t questioned much on why he doesn’t feel the same pull towards Joe or Andy – he knows they’re completely different from Patrick in looks and personalities, and maybe Pete just has a type. He doesn’t – He doesn’t want to label this feeling just yet. It’s still too new for him to name, too much on the side of the supernatural for him to comprehend. It’s not that unusual to crave this intimacy with Patrick, but just how much he craves it is concerning.

But as the days turn into weeks, Pete finds the casual closeness is all about timing. Every brush of their hands or every bump of their shoulders is dependent on Patrick’s mood. With his new abilities, Pete feels every little emotion that flickers across Patrick’s mind and he uses it to his advantage. He waits and watches and tries to be nonchalant. If he floats next to Patrick, he’ll put a hand on his shoulder as they crack a joke. If they’re in the kitchen, Pete will hand Patrick a napkin and lets his fingers linger against Patrick’s for a little longer than necessary. Every day is another step further. Pete dares to hug Patrick quickly before bed or straighten the hat on Patrick’s head if it falls askew. He knows it’s risking a lot, but as they grow to know each other all over again, Pete picks up on the way Patrick’s heart races. He can feel the warmth of Patrick’s feelings – fondness, adoration, amusement – and knows their slow intimacy isn’t unappreciated.

Sometimes it can be hard for Patrick. On certain days Patrick flinches away from him, others he’ll back up from Pete’s attempt to stray too close. Pete doesn’t blame him, he understands – he doubts he’d be any different if their roles were reversed. He still gets a little queasy from seeing Pete drink blood and radiates disappointment when Pete has to avoid the sunlight. So sometimes it’s hard, but he comes around. Pete doesn’t have to time their touches after awhile. Instead, Patrick will hug him back. Instead, he’ll ruffle Pete’s hair or lets their legs press against each other when they’re sitting on the couch. He’ll be the one to initiate their contact and Pete relishes these moments. 

He’s taken to reading books on vampire lore, folktales that seemed silly up until this point. Patrick’s practically given him a library full of textbooks to pour himself into. Sometimes he’ll help Pete with the translations. Sometimes he’ll help make notebooks for Pete so he can remember certain facts without having to go through several texts to find the reference. Some moments he’ll lean over and read with him, and Pete can smell the strawberry shampoo he uses and nearly taste the salt that lingers on his skin when Patrick’s that close. The temptation to lean in and nip at the skin, to draw some of that sweet, forbidden liquid out of Patrick is nearly overwhelming. The fact that Patrick’s gotten this far to let him in is alarming, but Pete isn’t going to complain, and he isn’t going to let any blood lust ruin it for him.

Normally the four of them go out on hunts together, but lately it’s just been Joe and Andy. Pete doesn’t think he’s ready for field work just yet, even if it’s been over a month since the accident. Patrick doesn’t want Pete to be left to his own devices in case he needs one of them (Patrick) for something, so he stays behind as well. 

Tonight is one of those nights, with the two hunters going out to search the nearby abandoned buildings for more ammo and supplies, and Pete and Patrick staying behind to keep the base under watch.

It’s not a research night, surprisingly. Patrick got most of his work done earlier in the day, which is why he settles next to Pete on the couch after warming up a mug of artificial O-Negative for the vampire and getting a bottle of water for himself. They’re close enough that their legs are pressed together, comfortable enough that Patrick leans back and lets their shoulders touch too.

“Joe found an old VHS tape of _The Wedding Singer_ at the library if you’re up for a movie night?” Patrick asks, but he already popped the tape into the dented player before sitting down. The television starts off with producing static before turning to a blue screen, then to black as the movie starts to play. The television showcases several previews before starting on the intro riff to _You Spin Me Right Round_ , and Patrick hums along with the beat. Pete listens intently to Patrick instead of the song on the screen.

Pete sips on the warm, synthesized blood, holding the mug tightly in his hand and lets the other rest next to Patrick’s knee. Patrick presses closer, though, enough that Pete has to move his hand from being squeezed between them and lets it rest against Patrick’s leg now. Patrick doesn’t push him away, instead he curls into Pete’s side.

The movie draws on – dancing people, a man left at the wedding alter, a friendship formed – but if you asked Pete what was happening he couldn’t tell you any of it. He’s too focused on the warm press of Patrick’s side against his and too aware of both their breathing picking up from the proximity.

“This is my favorite part,” Patrick whispers, and the sudden sound of Patrick’s voice makes Pete jump only slightly. The movie shows Adam Sandler’s character Robbie mention that Julia forgot her jacket. She was too hot when they passed a certain street. On screen he asks, _Remember? She took if off because…_ and their friend comments that Robbie likes her, says it like it’s a realization for the both of them.

Pete gulps and risks a side glance at Patrick, whose eyes are still on the screen. 

_You like her_ echoes from the television.

 _I do_ , Pete thinks. _I like him_.

He feels Patrick’s hand settle over his after a moment, giving it a light squeeze. The pressure makes him tear his gaze away from Patrick and he looks back to the screen. His mug of blood sits on the floor, forgotten and cold. The characters confess to one another on a plane, miles up in the sky.

 _I am so in love with you_ , they whisper to each other on screen, in front of a crowd of people. But it’s as though they’re alone together in the world as they confess, just the two of them who matter.

The movie plays into its happy ending. Pete feels envious because he knows his own ending won’t be anything like it. He squeezes Patrick’s hand and lets himself have this moment.

\---

While Pete spends most of his time near Patrick in some form or another, he does take time to himself.

His collection of folklore is piling up every day, whether they are from Patrick’s personal stash or from books that Andy and Joe have gathered from their raids. If they have enough room in their bags they bring back stacks upon stacks of texts from the old library that other hunters use. Patrick has special connections – being the messenger of the group he stays at his desk for most of his time to send out Morse code signals to other hunting packs near and far across the nation. Information is traded most of the time about the creatures of the night, about _Pete’s kind_ ; weaknesses found, successful hits and what weapons were used during those times, and tucked away bases for future raids. Sometimes he doesn’t stop for meals and Pete has to remind him to eat and even to sleep sometimes. He admires the determination, though. It’s precious, and while he doubts Patrick would appreciate ever being called precious Pete can’t think of any other word that describes him.

Upon finding out more information, though, Patrick gets other hunters to send him copies their personal journals. These are notebooks from old and new hunters alike, telling of their own encounters and experiences they’ve had. They aren’t anything like the legends that the textbooks tell – these are first hand fights, first person points of view.  
Over all Pete’s read more over these few weeks than he has in his entire life. The humans who contributed to the textbooks and guides have seen vampires as aggressive, harsh creatures with increased strength and stamina. His kind are natural predators, siren like monsters who have the gift of charm to lure in their prey. Pete doesn’t think he has anything alluring about him, no matter how insistent the books are about it. However, as he reads paragraph after paragraph, he does feel a little more content to know some more about what he’s turned into, even if some speculations seem over exaggerated. 

Eventually he goes through every written word and printed page and starts to reread some of the personal accounts that Patrick’s acquired. Some days when Patrick’s not feeling up to doing research he’ll sit in their bedroom and work on a song that will probably never be recorded. On those days Pete will take over the desk with his notebooks and journals piled high. Today is one of those days, accented with a mug of artificial, piping hot blood and his feet floating mid air to relax.

The personal account journal he currently holds is from one of the nearby groups. Pete takes a sip of blood and nearly chokes when he sees Beckett’s name in the scrawled handwriting. He doesn’t remember seeing it before when he read this one. Did he read this one? He hasn’t thought about the name Beckett in days, weeks – he’s been too distracted with Patrick to think about much else, he’ll admit. 

He skims over the journal page again and his neck throbs as he focuses. The text sheds some light on the mystery that is Beckett – or more commonly known as William Beckett; a ward of Chicago, Illinois, ruler and maker of hundreds of vampires that range from fledglings to centuries old. At some points the scrawled handwriting is hard to read, but Pete gets the idea. Beckett is a powerful and violent commander who either recruits humans to join his army or makes meals out of them.

Joe’s words ring in Pete’s head. _He either drains his victims or takes them for part of his team, but he just left you on your own._

Suddenly Pete’s head is pounding. He sets his mug down shakily and holds the sides of his head, trying to calm himself down. But it’s – everything feels like too much all at once. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, in and out, in and out, but there’s something in the back of his mind that’s pushing through the haze. He can see something come into his view. A dream? A memory?

_Smoke surrounds them as they make their way through the city. The lights from the street lamps are bright, too bright – he can’t see Patrick anywhere because of them. He can only hear maniacal laughter as he tries to focus. A hand suddenly comes out of nowhere, gripping his face and turning him. He stares at his attacker, their gazes locked onto one another. A man, tall and lithe, stares down at him. He’s smiling maliciously at Pete, fangs protruding and nearly glistening with want. The man’s hair is long and hidden beneath a bowler hat, and gaudy furs adorn his body over a cheap suit._

_Pete knows him – everyone in Chicago knows of him. Beckett is one of the most powerful vampires around, always on the hunt for new meat. Patrick had been given a tip off of Beckett being in the area tonight, raiding and prowling, and they had hoped to gun him down at last. They had hoped to be one step closer to ending this battle, one step closer to ending the war._

_But Beckett was too elusive, too fast. When Patrick and he had scoped the area before, they were ambushed almost immediately. The smoke bombs had gone off and Patrick was kicked to the ground, leaving Pete vulnerable and ripe for Beckett’s taking. He struggles in Beckett’s grip now, trying to get out of his hold, but to no avail._

_The grin that Beckett wears is uneasy, uncomfortable, and sleazy. He looks at Pete like he wants to swallow him whole – literally and figuratively. His hand grips around Pete’s chin and cheeks, and he hauls Pete up closer to him with minimal effort._

_“My my, what have we here?” Beckett whispers. His eyes roam over Pete’s body, possibly to inspect the potential in his next meal or his next soldier. “Seems like you’ve been abandoned, my boy.”_

_Pete thrashes against him, gasping, “Patrick – !” He tries to call out, but Beckett shushes him immediately. His other hand comes to Pete’s throat, turning it to expose the inked skin._

_“Patrick can’t save you now, can he?” Beckett says. He leans in to inhale the scent of Pete – fresh, young and healthy blood that was just waiting to be consumed beneath the surface – and opens his mouth. He intends to bite him, to savor the adrenaline and fear that laces the red liquid rushing under Pete’s skin, but he stops. A gunshot rings too close to them for comfort and they both look up at the sound._

_“Pete!” A voice calls. Patrick runs through the smoky haze, panting and squinting his eyes trying to see. In his hands is a simple handgun, though Beckett doubts that they’re simple bullets loaded in it. More than likely they’re blessed, he assumes, and he huffs. Regardless, the situation at hand just makes Beckett hold onto Pete even tighter. He brings them even closer together so that he and Pete are pressed chest to chest._

_Beckett smiles over Pete’s shoulder. “Is this that friend of yours? Patrick?” He asks, and Pete starts to tremble. He tries to look back at Patrick, wants to desperately communicate in some way for him to just leave. This isn’t worth both of them dying over. He gasps again and pulls away from Beckett’s grip to yell, “Fucking shoot Patrick! He can’t – “_

_But Beckett isn’t having any of that. Pete is snug against him still as he says, “Yes Patrick, shoot. Let’s see if the bullet in that gun is strong enough to go through two bodies, hm?”  
Patrick just stands there, though. He’s too shaken to do anything else. He can’t shoot, not with Pete in the way – he can’t kill Pete, he can’t – _

_“Oh, but you can,” Beckett says. He can feel the nauseating fear that radiates off of Patrick, can feel the yearning to save his friend. It’s endearing, Beckett thinks, to see the man unable to take the risk for his beloved friend._

_An idea forms in his mind and he can’t help the giggle that comes out of his mouth._

_“As much fun as it is to see you two suffer now...” He says as he cranes Pete’s neck even farther to the side._

_Neither of them understand what he means, but Beckett doesn’t hesitate as he sinks his teeth into Pete’s neck. The blood rushes out, into his mouth and onto the boy’s skin and clothes. Pete’s crying out in pain, struggling and thrashing against Beckett. Beckett only works his fangs deeper into the irritated skin and sucks – he keeps sucking until he can feel the change start. The boy in his arms goes limp and Beckett pulls back to admire the puncture marks._

_He drops Pete to the ground without another thought._

_“I can’t wait to see what you’ll become, my boy,” Beckett says. He disappears into another cloud of smoke and Patrick rushes over to Pete as soon as he can. Pete can hear him speaking, can hear him yelling, but he can’t comprehend any of it. Everything is hot, so hot and painful and he can’t – he can’t –_

Pete opens his eyes and gasps. The room is spinning around him as he comes back into consciousness, the memory of what happened that night hitting him like a ton of bricks. He looks around him, makes sure that it was just a memory – he’s still in the den, still at Patrick’s desk. He doesn’t know how much time has passed but it doesn’t feel like too long. There’s still sunlight coming through the windows and when he checks his mug the blood is still warm. 

He takes a shaking breath and exhales harshly, tries to calm down. There’s noise coming from the kitchen a few seconds later, and when Pete turns his head he sees Patrick rummaging through the fridge.

Pete’s up and out of his chair in a flash. He comes up to Patrick and when the boy turns around he can’t help but to tug him into a tight embrace.

“Pete?” Patrick asks, though it’s slightly muffled against the fabric of Pete’s shirt.

Pete shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk. He buries his own head against the crook of Patrick’s neck and lets out another harsh breath.

“I just need to hold you for a moment,” He says. He can feel Patrick nod against him, can feel the boy’s own hands come up behind his back to hug him in return. 

Pete can’t describe the urge he had, always has, when Patrick was near. The moment he saw Patrick he just knew he needed this – this closeness, this warmth, this protection to keep the bad thoughts away. The memory of Beckett changing him is still so fresh in his mind, with every blink he can see that grin and can feel the burning start all over again.  
His heart race settles, though, after minutes of standing there. He starts to let go of Patrick, sure he’s taken too much of the boy’s time, but Patrick doesn’t let him go. His grip stays on Pete and he presses his cheek against Pete’s shoulder.

“Maybe I just need to hold you, too,” Patrick says. It’s so soft spoken, but he hears it.

Pete swallows and stays right where he is.

\---

The memory doesn’t go away.

It haunts him throughout the rest of the day and into the night. Pete finds himself restless and he knows that Andy, Joe, and especially Patrick are picking up on his irritability. He knows he should talk about it. He knows all of the guys would understand, even joyous, that he’s remembered such an event, but that’s not the issue.

He tries to sleep it off as soon as they call for lights out. Andy and Joe are off on another small raid, and Patrick is asleep in the bed beside him. Pete lets the weight of the blankets suppress him. He closes his eyes and tries his hardest to sleep, to rid himself of the daylight nightmare, but he can’t. No matter how he tosses and turns his mind can’t turn the memory off.

His eyes drift over to Patrick’s sleeping form on the other bed. He’s lying on his stomach, the covers half on him, and his arms are tucked under his pillow. He’s facing Pete and Pete takes in every detail; barely there freckles, parted mouth with soft snores escaping, light eyelashes and tussled hair. 

The bed dips as Pete sits down next to Patrick. He’s not going to deny himself this simple pleasure tonight; instead he lets himself give into temptation. His hand finds its way to Patrick’s hair and he brushes the bangs from the boy’s sleeping, lax face. Patrick shifts under Pete’s touch, turning into it just as Pete did to Patrick all those weeks ago. His heart lurches in his chest and he smiles.

It’s a madness, he’s decided, what he feels for Patrick. The ache he feels sits low in his gut until he’s close to the boy. Touching him, feeling his emotions mirrored onto Pete, knowing Patrick feels calm with him as much as he feels calm with Patrick…it’s too much sometimes. It’s a craving he can never sate, an addiction he doesn’t want to quit.  
He knows what this feeling is in the simplest of terms: love. The bond he has with Patrick, whether it’s an influence of his new supernatural nature or from just Pete himself, ties them like an invisible rope. It squeezes and hugs around his heart and pulls him closer to Patrick with each passing second. It’s a constant buzz in his system, not an annoyance but a hindrance – despite the fact that it makes Pete happier than he’s ever been, he knows it isn’t right. His feelings for Patrick…they’re wrong. _He’s_ wrong, especially for Patrick, and he knows that all those textbooks and journals are right. Maybe he is just a siren, using his charm to lure Patrick in. 

These weeks of growing closer to each other have all probably been a hoax. Pete only knows about vampires from legends and scripts, and there’s no telling what sort of powers he’s been using on Patrick. What if he’s been manipulating the boy all this time?

The thought makes him sick to his stomach and he pulls his hand away from Patrick like he’s been scalded. 

He could be using Patrick for his own sick, vampire lust. He probably only thinks he has feelings for Pete, only puts up with Pete because of a spell Pete’s subconsciously put over him. Which would make sense – Patrick could never feel this sort of love for him, not for Pete, not for the sort of creature he spends every day researching to kill. What was he thinking? Patrick could have loved the Pete before this whole mess happened, but the Pete that’s taken over is nothing more than a thorn in his side. 

He has to distance himself from Patrick. After realizing this he can see how much of a nuisance he’s really been. Pete’s read the textbooks, he knows the signs by now; he’s territorial of Patrick, has snarled at Andy and Joe on a few occasions for getting too close to him. He’s lashed out once or twice after Patrick went on a hunt with the others and knows that’s the reason he stays behind to baby sit him now. He’s even become aroused by the sight of Patrick’s skin; creamy white and tempting to sink his teeth into, to mark and to claim as his own. He’s been successful in keeping his urges down thus far, but he knows he’s going to snap one day, probably soon, and he’ll lose Patrick to this monster that’s taking over.

It’s going to be hard to keep away. He knows he’s never deserved Patrick’s feelings for him, not even the ones that have come from their general friendship. This boy, who helped him survive his turning and who still shakes when he thinks of Pete in pain, who stays awake late into the night to soothe Pete’s erratic moods and who sings him to sleep, who still stocks the fridge with artificial O-Negative despite being disgusted by it, who laughs at his horrible jokes and tells equally horrendous ones back, is too good for Pete. He’s everything sweet in the world – sugar, spice, everything nice, and Pete can’t believe he’s been taking advantage of him.

Pete’s about to gather his things and sleep on the couch, but he risks one more look at Patrick. He lets his sick feelings take over for the moment, just one more moment, and reaches back down to press the palm of his hand against Patrick’s cheek. His face is still relaxed, worry free and soft. It’s an indulgence only Pete gets to see and feel. The warmth of Patrick’s skin radiates into his own and his heart is once again squeezed by the invisible rope. He won’t be able to physically resist him in the long run, not after how much time they’ve spent together, but he has to try. 

His thumb rubs over the sinking of Patrick’s cheek, stroking the skin before he pulls his hand back entirely. He tosses the blankets and pillow over his shoulder and keeps himself from turning back.

\---

The next morning comes with a heavy heart. Pete wakes up before anyone else and prepares his usual mug of warm blood. He doesn’t make Patrick’s coffee and doesn’t move his stuff from the couch. He thinks of just up and leaving – maybe he would be better off to just disappear from their lives forever. He could learn to resist Patrick, could learn to live his life as the monster he really is without hurting anyone he loves.

He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on his own self hatred and future, though, because as soon as Andy and Patrick shuffle out of their rooms, Joe is fully dressed and rolling out a map of Glenview on the kitchen island.

“What’s going on?” Andy asks, blearily looking at Joe in an attempt to wake up. 

“ _This_ – ” Joe says, motioning to the paper in front of them, “ – is where our next hunt is gonna be.”

They all stare at him in confusion.

“Okay, I know that’s pretty vague, but listen. I met up with Gabe last night on our raid and he said there’s gonna be a big hit later this week. Beckett’s planning on moving his company towards the north side community. There are still people living there, so we’re assuming he’s looking to strengthen his numbers.”

Gabe is only a person Pete remembers meeting a handful of times; another hunter in their circle, who partners with a woman named Vicky. 

“Can we trust them?” Pete asks. “Beckett’s not easy to capture. We knew that last time and look what happened there.” He motions to himself and Joe gives a grimace. 

“Gabe’s been a hunter long before any of us have. If there’s anyone who knows his stuff, it’s him,” Joe says. “But I was planning on meeting with him again. It was his idea in the first place, so we can tag team this one instead of the four of us going in alone.”

Pete keeps quiet at that. He feels anger at the thought of seeing Beckett again, of having to face down his maker. What he wanted before was to just disappear, but maybe if he can confront Beckett about this – why he turned Pete, what kind of power is he really capable of, if there’s anything he can do to save Patrick from him – and then kill him for what he’s done to him. He wants answers. He needs answers. 

“…We need to draw him out,” Pete says, interrupting the silence. “We need to set a trap. He won’t fall for it…but his minions will. If they’re around, then he’s around, and then we can focus on that one area. They’ll all flock back to their hideout and we can strike from there.”

Joe and Andy agree to his plan and go off to contact Gabe about it, but Patrick stays behind. He hasn’t said a word since the meeting started, and it isn’t until the two other hunters leave that he pulls Pete aside.

“Are you sure about this?” Patrick practically hisses, holding onto Pete’s arm like a lifeline. “He’s the one who – he could _kill_ you if you go back there, Pete.”

Pete keeps his eyes away from Patrick. “He could have killed me the last time, but he didn’t. I…I remember what happened. That night he told me he couldn’t wait to see what would happen to me. He’s playing a game with me and I can’t let him win, Patrick. I can’t just sit here and drink modified blood and let him torture some other poor soul.”

Anxiety is heavy in the air, nearly suffocating Pete. He dares to meet Patrick’s gaze and can hear the _thump-thump, thump-thump_ of the boy’s heart race picking up. 

“I know – I know, Pete, but I…I almost lost you once. I can’t make the same mistake twice. I couldn’t save you then, but I’m not going to let you down this time. You can’t sit here and let him run free, but I’m not going to sit here either and let you run into the line of fire by yourself.”

Pete swallows. “And I appreciate that, I do. But – I have to tell you something, Patrick. Last night I realized that I can’t stay here. After this week’s ambush, I’m leaving the group.”

Patrick stares at him. “I’m sorry, you’re _what?_ ”

“I’m leaving the –“

“I know what you fucking said, Pete. I just. What the hell makes you think you can decide something like that all of a sudden?!” Patrick’s voice is loud, almost near a yell, as he confronts Pete. “You were fine yesterday. I thought we – I thought we were moving forward with our lives. I thought we were finally on the same page with things.”

“I’m using you for my own sick vampire game and I can’t fucking control myself! That’s why I have to leave – I’m taking advantage of you!” Pete spits back. “If I don’t leave I’m going to turn you into a meal. You know it, I know it. I love you but I also know I’m just manipulating you into doing my bidding. Why the fuck else would you stick around me? I’m a fucking – ”

“You're a fucking _asshole._ ”

Before Pete can respond to that, because he’s not being an asshole, Patrick’s gripping the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down into a sudden, hard kiss.

_Oh._

The contact throws Pete off balance. He stumbles back into the wall behind him, but Patrick doesn’t let him go. He keeps Pete there, takes control of the press of their mouths. It’s demanding, rough and persistent – unlike any of the daydreams that Pete’s had. Slow and sensual, soft sounds and gentle pets were what he thought about, but this is real. This is alive. It’s dizzying, mesmerizing, and Pete’s hands drift to Patrick’s waist automatically. He clutches at the fabric of his shirt, loses himself in the arousal of the moment –

But he has to pull back. Because he can’t, he _can’t_ – 

“Please – ” Patrick tries to pull him back down. “Pete, _please_ – ” His hands come up to press against the base of Pete’s neck, keeping him still. Pete tries again, but Patrick won’t let him go. Their breath mingles together, hot and heavy and frantic as Patrick keeps the two of them pressed together. “I want you to – ”

“You don’t know what you want – ” Pete groans. He resists turning them around to press Patrick against the wall instead, but he’s losing his focus. He knows this is wrong, knows he’s controlling Patrick into wanting this. This isn’t right, he’s forcing him – 

“ _Do it_ ,” Patrick urges. He tilts his head to the side, exposes his neck to Pete’s hungry gaze. “Please, I want this, I swear I do. Pete please, _please_ – ”

Hearing Patrick beg him over and over to please, please is knocking his resolve down. He can’t stop looking between Patrick’s face and his neck. Everything is out there for him, open for the taking, and he wants to. Fuck, he wants to. All those thoughts from before about being distant from Patrick and keeping his space have flown out the window. He wants to. He needs to – his mouth strays down, kissing from his mouth to his cheek and to the exposed skin of his neck. He laps at the sweat that pools there, sucking lightly to draw the blood closer to the surface. He can nearly taste it, he’s _so close_ – 

Patrick’s choked gasp echoes throughout the empty kitchen as Pete’s fangs finally pierce him. The tangy, juicy, wonderful liquid bubbles to the surface and fills Pete’s waiting mouth. He can feel Patrick’s hand fisting his hair, can feel the sudden stillness that comes over Patrick as Pete latches onto him. He keeps sucking and sucking, filling his stomach with what is essentially pure Patrick and it’s the most sated feeling he’s ever had in his life. This is everything compared to the synthetic blood he’s been feasting on, everything he’s wanted and more, because it’s Patrick. It’s the only person, only thing, he’s been able to focus on over the past several weeks and it’s more than any heaven he’s imagined.

But Pete relents after a minute or so, too full too fast and he knows he has to stop. He shouldn’t have done this in the first place, but he can’t resist Patrick. He tried and he failed and he fucked up. He looks down at the boy who’s still clutching onto him. Patrick looks dazed, cheeks flushed and eyes lidded and Pete wants to ruin him all over again. He gives the wound on the boy’s neck small, kitten licks as the blood starts to clot and seal. He presses soft kisses to the reddened skin around the mark, unable to help himself from the tender affections.

He didn’t take enough to kill him. He didn’t take enough to turn him, either. Just a taste, a nibble. A surprisingly filling snack that’s done more for him than any of the artificial recipes they’ve been trying.

“Patrick – ” 

“I wanted to,” Patrick huffs out, leaning against his chest. Patrick’s own chest is heaving as he tries to get his breath back. “I wanted you to, Pete. I know you’ve been…I know it’s been getting harder. I want to help. This isn’t because of any supernatural influence.” He presses his face against Pete’s shoulder. “I’ve known you long enough to see when you’re making a hole for yourself. I’m not going to let you dig another grave.”

“You don’t know that I haven’t been – ”

“Fuck, Pete, will you just listen? I’ve seen enough vampires to know when someone’s being manipulated. This isn’t it. This is because I love you too, you fucking idiot.”  
The cogs in Pete’s brain stop turning at Patrick’s statement.

_I love you too._

“You love me?” Pete whispers, almost afraid to ask. “How can you – “

Patrick cuts him off. “Because despite you being a fucking idiot and jumping to conclusions, you’re still Pete. You becoming a vampire isn’t going to change the feelings I’ve had for you since I’ve been seventeen. If anything…”

Patrick’s voice goes soft, quiet. He plays with the lapels of Pete’s jacket and keeps his eyes on the red scarf adorning Pete’s neck. “…this whole mess has made me realize that anything can happen to you. Everything has happened to you. You’re in more danger now than you were before. If I don’t take the chance now, I feel like I’m never going to. You’re the most important person in my world, and I think…I think I’m the most important person in yours. I’m not going to waste any more time, Pete. And I’m not going to let you run away from this.”

Pete swallows against the lump forming in his throat. This is far from what he expected today. He thought he would pack his bags and be on his miserable way, but Patrick’s just confessed to him. Patrick Stump _loves him back_ and wants to be with Pete. He wants to protest more about the influence, because neither of them really knows about the depth of a vampire’s abilities, but Patrick just said he’s felt like this since he was seventeen. Seventeen, Pete thinks, and he marvels at that fact. 

“You’ll always be here, won’t you?” Pete asks. “Even if I go all feral again? If I try to attack you or Andy or Joe…you’ll find a way to help me.”

“I’ll strap you back down to that table again myself, don’t worry,” Patrick replies. “Just promise me if you have any more doubts, you’ll come to me first instead of hiding on the couch.” He’s smiling up at Pete, still flushed and slightly dizzy from the blood loss, but whole and hearty. He looks happy, and Pete can feel the easiness fall back into the atmosphere around them. 

“You’re my number one, ‘Trick,” Pete says, “my only one.”

\---

The next week passes by far too quickly for Pete’s comfort.

He’s been working on his abilities more, with the help of Joe and Andy. As hunters they need to stay in shape, and while Pete would bother Patrick he wants the boy to be focused on their strategies and plan this time around.

Instead he uses his levitation and enhanced strength as much as he can. Andy’s been his weight lifting coach, spotting him when he attempts to bench more than necessary. Joe’s taken him to the make-shift shooting range behind their hideout, making sure he’s not lost his aim and testing out how far he can focus on a moving target. He trains day in and day out, wearing out his endurance until he can’t do much more than blink, and even that’s exhausting after awhile.

At night, though, he lets himself indulge in Patrick. Andy and Joe haven’t asked them if anything’s changed in their relationship. They probably know, they probably knew, that Patrick and Pete have taken to being more intimate. So far it seems fine and dandy. Patrick doesn’t want to make a spectacle about it. Pete just wants as much alone time as possible.

Each evening when they retire to their room, Pete crawls into Patrick’s bed without being asked. They’re both worn out from the day behind them, more than tired to do more than just be close to one another. Legs tangle and curtains are drawn, and Patrick will whisper each night, “Please, Pete…”

The mark that Pete made on Patrick’s neck is still there. Every night he worries that it will scare over from how much he reopens it. The indentions never seem to heal; instead the soft tissue is always pink and pulled tight from its attempt to scab. Pete buries his face next to the mark as soon as he pulls Patrick into an embrace, always kisses and licks over it before sinking his fangs into the tender skin. He never takes much, only enough to feel okay again – enough that he feels like he can fall asleep easy and wake up being able to function. 

Patrick never protests. He asks for it, asks for Pete to give into the craving. He understands that the artificial blood Pete’s been taking for the past several weeks isn’t going to give him the strength he needs for their fight with Beckett. Pete needs actual human blood, Patrick’s blood, in his system.

Tonight is different. Tonight Pete’s wide awake with anticipation. He sits on the bed, knee bouncing and jerking from nervous energy, and waits for Patrick to join him.

In a few short hours Pete’s going to meet his maker for the first time in two months, since this whole ordeal started. Joe went over the plans earlier with them, detailing every aspect with the map he had showed them before. 

It isn’t a sure fire plan by any means; set the bait, strike them down, and follow the stragglers back to the lair to face down the final boss. Even if it isn’t fool proof, it’s possibly a chance to end things. Last time was an ambush, a surprise – Pete’s not going to go in this time without knowing what exactly he’s facing off against.

The sound of the bedroom door closing brings Pete out of his thoughts. He jerks his head up towards Patrick, watches as the boy makes his way over to Pete. He stands in front of him, lets his shins bump against Pete’s bent knees.

“You’re thinking too much,” Patrick says. He reaches up and runs a hand through Pete’s hair, making Pete have to tilt his head back to look up at Patrick.

“Hard not to,” Pete mutters. His own hands come up to tug at Patrick’s jacket. He pulls and tugs until Patrick gets the idea and straddles Pete’s lap with his knees on either side of Pete’s thighs.

This is their usual time for intimacy, and Pete’s craving for Patrick is getting worse with each passing second. The ache is more painful, more persistent, and Pete presses his lips against Patrick’s shoulder in anticipation.

But Patrick cups the sides of Pete’s face and turns him back to face him. Their mouths ghost over one another in a light kiss that turns from one to two, then to three, to more than Pete can keep track of. The bloodlust is pushed to the back of his mind and instead it’s replaced by a physical want, need, to have Patrick pressed as close to him as possible.  
Life may seem like a nightmare, but Pete lets himself wake up to the good side of this reality. The soft press of Patrick’s mouth reminds him of the light that comes through the window in the early morning, the rut of his hips against Pete’s is as striking as the alarm clock going off at his bedside, and the aching in his chest is the moment he gains consciousness. It pulls him into daybreak as he curls against Patrick, seeking the warmth of sleep and the promise of more gentle minutes together.

Their breathing is harsh and heavy. Patrick is panting each time they separate for air, and Pete dives back in for more because the sight is too tempting. He relishes the moment for what it is; an escape, the calm before the storm. 

His mouth trails down from Patrick’s, nipping and sucking under his ear before his fangs find their home in the swollen mark at the base of the boy’s neck. 

“Not too much…” Patrick gasps, wincing as the sharp teeth pierce his skin. The warm, sweet nectar rushes into Pete’s mouth. The flavor never dulls, even after days of feeding from Patrick, and Pete worries over the wound more to draw more fluid out.

He doesn’t over do it, doesn’t take enough to make Patrick fatigued, but just enough to sate Pete. Just enough to quench the thirst in his throat and the turning in his gut. Just enough to keep the taste of Patrick on his tongue until the night is over.

Pete sucks, keeps sucking, until his stomach starts to protest from the fullness. He pulls back, releasing the bruised skin, and gives the wound a few licks to catch any lingering drops until it starts to clot. He noses at Patrick’s collar bone when he’s done, inhaling his scent. The arousal is still there, slow burning in comparison to his rapid heartbeat. Pete kisses the base of his neck, just above the collar of his shirt, and can feel Patrick shudder from the sudden chill it sends through him.

The need to rut is gone, his lust once again taken over by his hunger, and an easy comfort falls between them. His arms stay around Patrick to keep him close, and Pete let’s Patrick’s head fall to his shoulder for a moment’s rest.

“We have to leave soon,” Pete whispers into Patrick’s ear, a reminder of their calm coming to an end. He nuzzles against him, buries half of his face in Patrick’s long hair. He would much rather lay in bed and sleep as they usually do, too sated and comfortable, with Patrick embracing him instead of the impending doom that’s about to rear its ugly head.  
“I know,” is his worn reply. Patrick’s arms circle around Pete’s shoulders, keeping him in the crook of his neck. “Five more minutes?”

“Five minutes,” Pete agrees. He hopes it’s the longest five minutes of his life.

\---

When midnight strikes they all pile into an old Chevrolet Impala; black, with a bat skull design on the hood of the car. Pete remembers, upon seeing it, thinking that it looked cool at the time. He wanted all the vampires to know who was coming to kick their asses.

Now he looks at it and can only grimace, feeling even less sure than he did back then.

The back seat doesn’t smell like blood, but the stain is still there. It soaked through the leather, giving the black surface a red tint. Pete doesn’t see Patrick try to avoid the spot, but he can feel the uneasiness as the boy sits on it. Pete’s blood, Pete’s _accident_. 

He reaches across the seats and holds Patrick’s hand as they drive to the meeting spot. Joe and Andy don’t comment, but he can see their knowing looks in the rear view mirror.  
Sirens are going off in the heart of the city and they can be heard for miles on end. The area they’re in is dark and murky, becoming foggier and foggier as they make their way towards the outskirts near the woods.

“There’s a cliff, right up that way,” Pete says, pointing towards a rural area uphill. “It’s a known make-out point. Vicky’s still okay with being a part of this, right?”

“Wait a minute,” Andy says. “A make-out point? Isn’t that pretty cliché? We’re practically setting ourselves up for the beginnings of a bad horror movie.”

They all turn to give Andy a look, like _isn’t that the point of this whole plan?_

“That’s what Beckett likes though. He’s drawn to dramatics,” Pete says. “If we play the part, we set the bait.”

As soon as the car is parked Patrick, Joe, and Pete unbuckle and jump out. Andy tries to open his door to step outside with them, but Pete keeps a hold on the driver’s side door.  
“You’re gonna be the bait.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Andy says. “I don’t remember ever agreeing to that – “

“Out of everyone here, you’re the most experienced.” Pete grabs the water guns, loaded with holy water, from the trunk of the car. He hands them out, one to Patrick and then one to Joe. “You don’t need any weapons to kick ass. You’re an animal all on your own and you can take them by surprise.”

Before Andy can give more protest, another car pulls up beside them. No one gets out except for a dark haired girl – Pete hasn’t seen her for awhile, not since he first started hunting, but Vicky looks exactly as he remembered her. She turns to wave at Gabe, who sits in the driver’s seat, before the car turns and rushes back down to the city.

It’s still too quiet, too early for any vampires to be lurking about for their dinner. Pete goes over the plan that they laid out one more time.

“Vicky,” He starts, “you and Andy will be in the car. You’ll need to act like sweethearts – talk a bit, play up the nerves before going in for the kill. Vampires can sense emotions, so you have to keep your cool enough to be unsuspecting. They’re gonna come out of nowhere, but you have to be ready, okay? Patrick and Joe will spray them down and incapacitate them for the time being. 

“They can’t know I’m here. Beckett’s planning something for me, I know he is, and if I’m seen they’re gonna be distracted. So draw them away from the cliff and if their attack is too strong I’ll be a last resort. We have to let at least one get away, that way Gabe can see what direction they’re heading in. We can go after them as soon as Gabe sends the signal. Is that clear?”

As soon as they agree to the plan, the stage is set. Pete’s eyes linger on Patrick as the boy goes to wait in the bushes with Joe. He’s fighting every urge to just run over there and take Patrick away from all of this, to protect him from the dangers that lie ahead. He knows this isn’t the time for comfort, knows this is instead a time for action, and so he climbs his way down the cliff’s side to his own stake out point.

It feels like too long before anything happens. The woods are quiet, much more silent than the city, and Pete feels on edge. Every broken branch draws his attention, every crumble of rock that falls makes him jump, and he nearly jerks with surprise when the attack finally does come.

It’s a sudden mix of sounds – snarling and hissing fill the air, and moments later Vicky’s screams overpower them. The car is jostled and almost overturned, and Joe and Patrick aren’t fast enough to stop them from cracking its windshield. They shoot them from a close range, managing to knock the few that are hassling Andy and Vicky to the ground, but it’s not enough to keep several of them from escaping.

The ones they did hit with the holy water lay on the ground, grunting and groaning from the burns and still sizzling as they’re tied together. Joe and Patrick tie the loose ends of their ropes together to keep them from getting away, and Pete jumps up from the cliff’s side in anger. He could sense how many had attacked – far more than he was expecting – but it doesn’t curb his disappointment in the team.

“You call yourselves hunters?!” Pete snarls, throwing up his hands in frustration. “We practically did nothing!”

“Well next time you be the bait!” Andy yells back from the open car window. Joe and Patrick look at one another, then at Pete, shuffling as they keep their guns aimed at the captured vampires. Joe goes to say something, but Patrick stops him.

“Gabe is still on their trail,” Patrick reassures him. “It’s not over yet.”

Pete doesn’t respond. He’s still too angry, at himself and at their group and honestly their entire plan. He grabs the cell phone from his belt, flipping it open in a huff, but stops as soon as he sees the new text notification from Gabe’s number.

_Record store. C u soon._

\---

Pete knows which record store he’s talking about. There’s only one in Glenview, the one where Patrick and him would go to when they were just getting to know each other. Thinking of the place reminds him of Bowie and promises of their would-be band, of dusty covers and small, shared smiles. It’s a memory he’d rather not have tainted by Beckett, but that seems almost impossible with anything in his life recently.

And Pete’s not surprised that Beckett would choose to hide somewhere in plain sight. The record store sits right in the middle of the city, in broad daylight. It’s almost like a throne for him, a place for everyone to see the king sit atop his kingdom and easy for him to watch his fledgling vampires do his bidding.

Vicky is the one to stay behind, armed with one of the holy water guns to keep an eye on the goons. Pete and the rest of the crew head down to the city to meet up with Gabe. They drive slow, watching as vampires and humans fight on the streets. There are gangs everywhere, and no cops can be seen. It’s more likely that they’re in other parts of the town to defend the more populated, overrun districts.

Andy parks them in an open area, a part of the street that isn’t littered with beaten up cars and side eyed glances. Joe immediately gets out to help gather the weapons from the trunk of the car, and Andy lends a hand too, but Patrick pulls Pete off to the side as soon as they get out of the back seat.

Pete holds back a yelp of surprise, and says, “Patrick –“

“I love you,” Patrick says. He has Pete up against a brick wall, hands fisting the ends of Pete’s scarf. He’s looking at Pete like he’s something precious, something important. The sight makes Pete’s heart lurch, makes his insides squirm and ache. “I just. I love you, and I don’t want us going in there without saying it one more time, okay?”

“This isn’t the end, Patrick,” Pete says, trying to reassure him. He brings his own hands up to fiddle with the buttons on Patrick’s jacket, trying to distract himself from the onslaught of emotions. “We’re gonna have so many chances to say I love you, so –“

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Pete.” Patrick spits. “You and I both know this could be the end for us. For _you_. You’re going in there and you could possibly die. You’re probably going to die, if Beckett’s any stronger than he was last time. I doubt he’s going to show you the same mercy again.”

Pete’s quiet for a moment, can’t say a word, because Patrick’s right. This could be the end of it all. Pete could go in there and not come out again. This is the part of their story where they decide to get busy living, or get busy dying, and Pete’s sure as hell not going to go down without a fight. He’s not going to give up so easily and leave Patrick alone in this fucked up world.

“Okay,” Pete whispers. “I’m not gonna lie to you: I’m terrified. I’m probably the most scared I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m not worried about dying. Death happens, people die every day. The thing I’m scared of is losing you. I’ve been worried since the beginning of losing you, Patrick, and this feels like a goodbye that I’ll never be ready to say.”

“Then don’t say goodbye,” Patrick says. “Tell me you love me and come back to me. You have to try for me, Pete – ”

Pete pulls him into a tight embrace. The alley way they’re in is dark, quiet, and the only sound Pete can hear is their rapid heartbeats intermingling. “I love you, Patrick.”

They stay like that for seconds, minutes – Pete can’t bring himself to let go. He presses his face into Patrick’s neck, inhales sharply because he wants to remember every part of Patrick; touch, taste, scent. He kisses under his ear, kisses up and up until they’re both chasing each other’s mouths. 

“Are you guys done making out yet?”

Neither of them need to turn their heads to know it’s Joe who’s yelling at them. Pete knows they need to leave. It’s Patrick who pulls back first, calling out, “ _We’re coming!_ ” before giving Pete one last peck on the mouth.

They wander back over to get their own personal supplies. Patrick takes one of the holy water guns and straps a few stakes to his belt. Pete hides a pistol in the back of his jeans, more so relying on strength alone if it comes down to it. Gabe makes sure they’re all prepped and secure, and then he leads them to the eye of the storm.

The record store is empty by the time they make their way over. The windows are smashed and the tables inside are flipped, and there’s no signs of life inside. Outside is a different matter; groups and gangs alike are lazing about, on the tops of cars and building roofs. Pete sees a few familiar goons that escaped earlier. They’re watching him with interest, eyes roaming with every step he takes.

Gabe, Joe, Andy and Patrick make a guard around Pete. They face away from him, making sure all of his sides are covered. The rogue vampires start to crowd around them now, hisses and snarls fill the air, and the pack moves into towards its prey.

Andy and Joe are the ones to lunge first. Gunshots and sizzling are followed by screams of pain. The brawl is sudden, full of fists connecting to jaws and tackles to the concrete ground. Pete doesn’t know which direction to look in, eyes searching to make sure they’re all accounted for. He can’t see Gabe, but as the fog sets in around them he can’t see much of anything. Patrick still has his back to Pete, the closest to him out of the four, and instead of going in with guns blazing like the others he’s still standing guard and fending off any fledglings that come too close.

“Patrick,” Pete calls, trying to grab his attention. Patrick doesn’t turn, but Pete knows he’s heard him. “I need to go.”

Nothing is said in response, but Patrick turns just slightly to nod in Pete’s direction. This isn’t a goodbye, Pete has to remind himself. He claps a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze, and then the two of them separate. Patrick rushes towards the group that are attacking Joe and Andy, and Pete watches him disappear into the smoke with a heavy heart.

He’s alone now. The goons are distracted enough for Pete to sneak away. He stays in the shadows, keeps his back pressed against the sides of the buildings, and watches; waits. He can see a few groups not participating in the fights, instead watching for their own amusement. They chuckle and chortle and one stands out among them.

Atop an old station wagon sits a man who adorns a bowler hat on his head. Several furs are tossed over his shoulder and a gloved hand hides the smirk that’s surely on his face. Pete’s memory of that night flashes before him, and he knows he’s found his maker.

Beckett’s watching the fight like it’s a show and he moves his hand away to give Pete a blinding, feral smile like he did all those months ago. It sickens Pete to see someone enjoying the murders that are happening right now, and he doesn’t want to wait around to join in the hilarity.

“Beckett!” Pete calls out towards the group. The few fledglings that are sitting on the dented car with Beckett turn towards him, fangs out and ready to snap, and Beckett opens his arms wide in a welcoming motion.

“My boy, what a pleasant surprise!” Beckett yells. He stands on the roof of the car before jumping off. His group goes to surround him, getting into formation with their fists up and jaws set.

Pete narrows his eyes at the greeting and their stances. He takes a few steps forward, but they all quickly take a step back. Pete tries again, and again they back away.

“Are we gonna fight? I didn’t come here to _dance_ ,” Pete snaps. 

“No, no, of course not!” Beckett snaps his fingers and the group surrounding him spreads out, taking several steps away from both their maker and Pete. “It’s been so long since we’ve had an adequate partner though, so do forgive them. They’re eager for some fresh meat.”

Beckett chuckles at his own words and comes forward, and Pete stands his ground. He watches warily as Beckett stops in front of him.

He leans into Pete, tilts his head and hums appreciatively. “Your neck scared quite nicely. Tell me, how much flesh have you had the pleasure of imprinting, hm? It is one of the best feelings I’ve found.”

“Don’t start – ” Pete tries to warn, but Beckett shushes him and grabs at his neck. His fingers press into the indents of the bite he left on Pete, and Pete can’t stop the shudder that runs through him at the contact.

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” Beckett hisses. He caresses the skin for a moment, before continuing. “Now, I’ll ask you once more. Have you bitten many people, Peter? Have your cravings been unbearable? You’re still a child, after all, and growing boys need to eat.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Pete spits in his face. The rage in Beckett’s eyes is only there for a brief second, but it’s enough to warn Pete of what’s to come. The hold on his neck tightens and he’s suddenly hauled up into the air. Both of Pete’s hands come to grip at Beckett’s wrist, trying to pull him off, but it’s useless.

It’s a horrible sense of déjà vu, but Pete’s at least thankful Patrick doesn’t have to bear witness this time.

“Still so weak,” Beckett says. He tosses Pete to the pavement and smiles at the sound of Pete’s shoulder giving a faint _crack_ as he hits the asphalt. Pete groans at the impact, but it isn’t enough to keep him down. He rises to his feet and tries to lunge at Beckett, fists nearly colliding with the man’s jaw, but Beckett only shakes his head and throws him back down like he was nothing.

Beckett presses a boot to Pete’s chest, keeping a steady pressure on his ribs. “You’ve been feeding on someone, though,” He muses. He digs the heel of his shoe into Pete and hears another resounding crunch under him. “You’re not as weak as you could be. I doubt your humans would have enough sense to properly feed you.

“ _Unless…_ ”

Pete struggles under the weight and coughs. He presses his own feet against the ground and tries to arch up, attempting to throw Beckett off balance, but the elder vampire is having none of it. He reaches down and grabs the collar of Pete’s shirt, pulling him back up so that they’re face to face again.

“Unless you’re feeding off one of them. You are, aren’t you?” Beckett grins and gives a full bodied laugh. “I expected you to come back to me once it was too much, but my boy, you are full of surprises. Just what I wanted!”

Pete doesn’t understand anything Beckett’s saying and kicks against him. The man finally stumbles back and releases Pete, but he’s still smiling like a loon.

“One of your _vampire hunters_ is letting a _vampire_ feed from him. Oh, what irony. Tell me, what made you do it? Was it him? Did he ask you to? Or did you coerce him into letting you take a bite? Let me guess, it’s the short one, isn’t it? The one who couldn’t kill me? The one who couldn’t pull the trigger and kill _you?_ ”

“Shut up! Fucking _shut up!_ ” Pete screams. The longer Beckett talks, the more enraged Pete gets. He shouldn’t be surprised by Beckett knowing he’s had human blood, _Patrick’s_ blood. He’s not strong like other vampires, the ones who take from any human they can get their hands on. He’s been on Patrick’s artificial blood for nearly two months now. Is it his scent? Can he sense a change in Pete just because he’s his maker?

“Don’t you worry, my boy,” Beckett says, closing in on Pete as he loses himself in his thoughts. “My abilities have nothing to do with me being the one to turn you. Mind reading, strength, it all comes with time and patience. Every vampire has their gifts, don’t you know this? Of course not, what was I thinking?”

Pete stares at him, breathless. “Then – Then what else could happen? What else could I do?” For all of Beckett’s mockery, this is the thing to draw Pete’s attention. He’s read only so much on vampires, all from the accounts of humans, and now he has the chance to ask an actual vampire about what he is, what he has the ability to do and control. “I don’t know – ”

Beckett coos at his reaction. “Oh, poor Peter, so alone in this world with no one to teach him. What a shame.” His gloved hand comes up to lift Pete’s chin. They’re chest to chest now, and Beckett can’t help but smile at the fledgling in front of him. “You know so little of yourself. Tell me, have you been experiencing desperation? Not just thirst, oh no, but _need?_ ”

Pete winces at the contact. “Need?”

“That boy who couldn’t shoot me all those months ago,” Beckett whispers and cups Pete’s cheek, rubbing it affectionately. “He’s just so sweet, isn’t he? I can see you, Peter. You just want to kiss him and take a bite out of him all at once, don’t you?”

“Patrick…” Pete breathes. The mere thought of the boy is soothing, even in this stressful situation, and Beckett can surely read his emotions inside and out.

“I doubt you have enough strength now to turn him into a proper thrall, but I can teach you if you’d like. You’re so attached and I couldn’t bear the thought of separating you two. A soul bond as promising as yours is a rare thing indeed. Normally they're used to keep a vampire stable, you see. We can snap just like that, Peter, without our other half to keep us in our place. But you can use it to your advantage, given the right treatment of course…” Beckett trails off, tilting his head. 

He’s trying to tempt Pete, but Pete’s trying to remember if he knows of the term _soul bond_. He’s never seen it in any of his books, and he can only guess it’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s possible none of the hunters who wrote those journals had a bond to a vampire, but if they did, why not write about it? Why not warn others? 

But the word _thrall_ is something he does remember reading about. It went along with the siren theory he dismissed earlier on, claiming that vampires could entice humans to become their slaves – their thralls – and have them do whatever they so desired. It’s what Pete was afraid of doing to Patrick, what he thought he was doing to the boy, this whole time. 

“I don’t want Patrick to be my thrall.” He says it quietly, almost to himself, but Beckett hears him all the same.

“Not now, you don’t, but you’ll find the idea more appealing with time. I can show you, if you’d like. I can teach you all there is to know about our kind.”

Beckett steps away from Pete and snaps his fingers. The goons from earlier circle around the two of them, and Pete starts to put his hands up in defense. Beckett halts him, though, and instead motions for Pete to follow.

“Come and see,” He says. He doesn’t give another glance back towards Pete or the fighting that’s still raging on in the background, and Pete forces himself not to look back either.  
It’s a horrible idea, he knows, but he follows Beckett into the darker corners of the city. The henchmen keep guard over them the entire way, and Pete pulls his scarf tighter around himself in an attempt to recede from their leers. 

He doesn’t know what Beckett’s planning, but he’s curious. He’s ashamed to admit he’s more intrigued by what Beckett could tell and teach him about being a vampire with each passing moment. He’ll never know if he doesn’t follow orders, though, and he watches with rapt attention as they come across what could only be Beckett’s lair.

The building he’s lead into his far nicer than any of the ones Pete has seen recently, but then again any structure without holes in the walls is a step above the rest. Inside there are vampires lurking about, lounging on couches and feeding off one another and a few poor humans who are chained to them. Pete’s stomach turns and he forces himself to keep his eyes ahead.

Through the hallways and doors Beckett shows Pete into an office – his office, Pete suspects. Beckett goes to sit in the chair behind the desk and motions for Pete to take a seat in one of the chairs that sit in front of it.

“Gabe will be joining us shortly,” Beckett says.

“Gabe?” Pete frowns. “What does Gabe have to do – ”

In that moment, Gabe walks into the room and Pete just stares as the man makes his way over towards Beckett. He doesn’t look at Pete, doesn’t even so much as glance towards him, and he possibly doesn’t even know Pete’s in the room with them. Instead his sole focus is on Beckett and he goes to his side like a dog on guard.

“Gabe is my thrall, Pete. Really, I thought you would have figured that out by now. Though I guess you have been distracted recently.” Beckett smiles and reaches to grab Gabe’s hand, stroking it tenderly. “He’s my soul bond, you see. While he certainly wasn’t my first choice he has grown on me. It’s amazing what a bit of manipulation can do to a man.”

Pete has the urge to throw up. Gabe is Beckett’s soul bond, meaning his thrall, meaning he’s been on Beckett’s side this entire time. All the planning he helped them do, all of the information and tips and meet-ups…He was setting them up.

“You can’t blame Gabe, Peter, he was only doing what I asked him to.” Beckett brings Gabe’s hand up to give it a light kiss. “Be a dear and tell Vicky to take care of those hunters. My fledglings need something to snack on tonight.” 

Gabe automatically goes to step out of the room, but Pete jumps out of his seat and blocks the door before he can get there.

“What do you mean? What hunters? You can’t – !”

“Did you really think I’d let them live, Peter? _Really?_ Your boys have been a nuisance to me for far too long. I’ll spare your thrall, but the other two – ”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Pete shakily grabs the pistol he hid in the back of his jeans and pulls it out, aiming it at Beckett. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you right now – ”

Gabe goes to attack Pete, but Beckett holds a hand up to stop him. He’s grinning again, seemingly pleased by the turn of events.

“I do love how daring you are. Your passion is part of the reason why I turned you. What a vampire you’ll be one day.”

Pete keeps his aim on Beckett and his finger on the trigger. “What do you mean?”

The door behind Pete opens, and before he can turn around something knocks him in the back of the head. He stumbles, falls, and the pistol in his hands is tossed to the floor.  
His vision fades in and out. He tries to keep a hold on his consciousness, tries to reach up towards Beckett and Gabe standing over him, but his body goes limp and the world slowly fades to black.

\---

Pete could go the rest of his life without passing out again. He’s done it more times than he’s comfortable admitting to, at this point, but at least this time he remembers what happened.

As he comes back into alertness, everything around him is fuzzy. The back of his head is surprisingly okay, no bumps or headaches – thank you magical vampire healing – but his hands are tied behind his back with a strong leather rope. Once again he thinks this happens a little too much for comfort.

When his vision clears, he can see the room he’s in looks like a basement with a sole light overhead. He’s more than likely in the same building as before, doubts Beckett would haul him across the town unconscious just to give Pete another flair of the dramatic.

Just as he starts to struggle against the binds, the creak of a door opening echoes through the room, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. Pete stops moving instantly and keeps his eyes on the archway across the room. Beckett comes in, just as smug as before, twirling Pete’s pistol in his hand.

“Did you have a nice nap? I tried to make you as comfortable as possible.”

Pete grunts, not deeming it worth an actual reply. 

Beckett makes his way over to Pete, standing in front of him. He points the pistol at Pete’s head, looks down at him with a pondering gaze. He’s considering his options.

“I could shoot you now and end it all, but I went through all that trouble of turning you. What fun would that be?” Beckett tosses the pistol to the floor and kicks it away. “I’d rather keep our little game going, wouldn’t you?”

Pete snarls and spits on the floor in front of Beckett, earning him a kick to the ribs. Pete goes down, coughs and groans at the impact. He wants to do it again, just to get on Beckett’s nerves.

“You’re trying my patience, Peter,” Beckett says and leans down to grip Pete’s hair. He hauls him up to force eye contact. “Do you want this to be over so soon?”

“Yes,” Pete gasps out. He tries to turn away from Beckett’s hold on him. “I don’t even know the rules to this game, why would I want to play it?”

“Oh, do forgive me. I keep forgetting how ignorant you are.”

With his free hand Beckett snaps his fingers and the door to the stairs opens once more. There’s a muffled noise getting louder and louder, and it’s only when someone is tossed to the ground in front of him that Pete looks to see who it is.

He sees Patrick – _Patrick_ , still alive and kicking and struggling against his own bonds and biting the cloth gag that’s tied around his mouth.

“Patrick –“ Pete tries. He pulls himself from Beckett’s grip and attempts to scoot closer to the boy, but Beckett’s quicker. He grabs Patrick by the collar of his shirt and wraps an arm around him, forcing Patrick’s back against his chest.

“The rules of our game are simple, Peter.” Beckett moves the hand on his collar to the boy’s face, gripping his chin. “Either you do as I say and join my side, or I’ll kill your dear boy here. Killing your soul bond will kill you in turn, but I know you’re more worried about _Patrick_ losing his life. The stronger the bond, though, the more agonizing the death. I must say it is inconvenient for you to bond with a human, as their lives are so short, but regardless…”

Pete keeps his eyes on Patrick, watching the boy squirm against Beckett’s hold. The words turn over in Pete’s head – either do as Beckett wants or Patrick gets killed. If Patrick dies then so does Pete, but that doesn’t matter. If he doesn’t have Patrick in this world then Pete doesn’t want to be a part of it.

But he can’t let Patrick die. Patrick can go on without him, live his life to the fullest. He could live the life he never could have with Pete.

Pete swallows harshly. “What if…What if I just gave myself to you and you let him go?”

Patrick starts screaming against the gag in his mouth, obviously upset by Pete’s proposal, but Beckett looks intrigued.

“Let the boy go?” He mulls over the thought. “I must say it would be more amusing to do it my way.”

“I know, but I don’t want it. If I join you, I’ll be completely yours,” Pete promises. “No soul bond around to distract me. You can train me, you could do whatever you want with me.”

Beckett seems more keen on this idea and nods. “Whatever I want, you say? You are correct, a thrall is rather distracting…” His gives a glance over towards Gabe from across the room. “And you are easy on the eyes…” He looks back to Pete and gives him a once over. “Hmm…”

“ _But_ – but you have to let him go,” Pete reminds him. “You can’t kill him, because then I’ll die. You can’t hurt him because if you do I’ll feel it and know. You have to set him free, or else the deal’s off.”

He knows it’s a risk to offer this bargain. Letting Patrick live would just give Pete a reason to escape eventually, and Beckett probably knows that. Beckett also knows that Pete’s in love with Patrick…soul bond or not, Pete would do anything for the boy in front of him, even if that meant never being able to see him again to ensure his safety.

So Pete watches, and waits, as Beckett considers. After a few more moments a grin slowly works its way onto his face and Beckett chuckles.

“You don’t play fair, Peter, but I’ll let your boy live.” He tosses Patrick to the ground nonchalantly. “And your hunters, but you have to come with me tonight. No goodbyes, no heartfelt farewells.”

“I’ll go, I swear,” Pete promises. He can do that. He’ll do anything to save them.

Beckett steps over Patrick without another glance. The human was of no real use to him now, the only thing important being the young vampire in front of him. He leans down and grips the front of Pete’s scarf, drawing him up onto his knees so that their faces are inches apart.

“My boy,” Beckett whispers. His eyes are bright red and shining with eagerness. He moves in as if to kiss Pete, to taste his well won prize, and end their game for once and for all.

But before their lips can meet, the sound of a gunshot rings through the basement. Pete waits with bated breath, expecting pain to blossom through him, but nothing comes. His eyes are wide as he watches Beckett suddenly double over on himself and groan in agony, but Pete can’t smell any blood coming from the elder vampire. Surely Beckett was shot…

A loud thump echoes against the walls then and Pete tears his gaze away from Beckett over to see Gabe now on the ground. There’s no movement coming from the thrall, no sign of life, and Pete can see a slow moving puddle of blood start to form underneath the man.

“What…” Pete starts to say. His eyes go to Patrick now, who’s now half out of his bindings. He had wriggled out of the ropes during Beckett’s distraction of Pete and found the pistol that had been carelessly tossed aside earlier. He had just shot Gabe in order to kill Beckett, because he had heard them talking about it earlier. He figured out that Gabe was Beckett’s soul bond.

Beckett groans again and Pete tries to move away, to scuttle backwards on the concrete floor, but Beckett reaches out and pulls Pete by his leg towards him.

“Don’t you d – dare boy….” He coughs and blood starts to bubble up out of his throat. “This isn’t o – over – ”

“You’re wrong, William,” Patrick says. He’s still hovering over Gabe’s lifeless body, but his aim is on Beckett now. “You lost the moment you turned Pete.”

Confusion and irritation flash over Beckett’s eyes, and Pete watches as he tries to make sense of what Patrick’s saying. “What do you – !”

Patrick pulls the trigger. A pain filled scream retches out of Beckett and he curls in on himself more. His grip on Pete is loose enough now that Pete can crawl away, and Pete moves far enough back that he hits the far end wall. Beckett doesn’t try to reach out for him again, too consumed by the pain of losing his bonded and from being shot just moments ago. The overwhelming, horrible noises don’t stop coming from the withering man on the floor, nor does the blood stop coming from his mouth, until it seems as though there’s nothing left for Beckett to give. 

He looks up at Pete with one last fleeting glance – the hatred that Pete feels courses through him with a cold shudder – and then nothing.

Suddenly there’s no more sound in the basement, only silence, as Beckett and Gabe both lay dead under their feet. Pete can’t take his eyes off of the lifeless body of his maker, not until Patrick comes over to press a hand against his shoulder.

“Pete?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“…I’m here,” Pete says, still letting it all sink in. “I’m here.”

Nothing is said after that – nothing needs to be said. The ropes and bodies of Beckett and Gabe are left in the basement, but Pete makes to keep the pistol with them before they leave.

The fledgling vampires that littered the building hours before aren’t there anymore. Maybe they ran off when they heard the struggle downstairs, maybe they’re finally free of any hold Beckett had over them and took to the night, or maybe they just didn’t care anymore to stay and watch the aftermath.

Regardless, they’re gone, and Pete and Patrick make their way carefully through the building and onto the streets. They’re both exhausted, and Pete can feel the tiredness radiate off of Patrick like a thick fog. He keeps himself from asking Patrick if he’s okay, because despite being kidnapped and in turn murdering two people, he knows they’re more okay than they’ve been in a long time. It’s over, no goodbyes were said – no one was left behind.

\---

Epilogue

“Are you done yet?”

Pete glances up from Patrick’s desk – their desk – to find Patrick standing in the wide doorway to the kitchen. He’s got his arms crossed and the look of someone who’s about to give a stern lecture on why sleep is important and blah blah blah.

“I’m getting there,” Pete says. He looks down at the notebook in front of him. Since their fight with Beckett, he’s been doing his own personal research on vampires. He’s been out on more hunts in the past few months, has even found alliances with some of the lone vampires that try to blend in with the Glenview hardcore scene. He figures it’s about time something is written from a vampire’s perspective instead of a hunter’s, because not all vampires are monsters. Some are just misunderstood. Some are just ignorant. Some are just in love.

But even though half of the desk is covered with his research materials, he isn’t working on that tonight. The page he’s scribbling in is filled with his thoughts and wonders. Pete still thinks of their band, what could have happened, what can still happen if they’re still set on the dream. Pete still has his golden ticket.

Said golden ticket is rolling his eyes and muttering that’s what you said twenty minutes ago, before walking over to Pete to give him a light kiss on the forehead.

“Don’t stay up too late, you know we have that meeting with Vicky tomorrow.”

“I know, I know.”

“Pete,” Patrick warns, but Pete just waves him off.

“Beckett’s fan club will still be there if I go to bed late. I promise I’ll be there soon.”

When the light shuts off in the kitchen and Pete’s sure Patrick’s gone to their room, he pulls out a few scrap pieces of paper from his pocket. He needs to write these words down before he forgets them. He can already hear the tune in his head.

_I was born under a bad sign,_

_but you saved my life, that night._

_It’s a strange way of saying that I know I’m suppose to love you._

End

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fan Art for Born Under A Bad Sign (You Saved My Life)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156306) by [doctorkilljoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkilljoy/pseuds/doctorkilljoy)




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